We have have discovered that our humble home comes with a Kinyarwanda tutor. Venant, the one guard out of the two who speaks VERY little English, has taken it upon himself to teach us the local langauge. When we return in the evenings it has become ritual for Venant to come to our back kitchen door with his notebook and pen. We make Venant some coffee and the three of us sit/stand in the kitchen using body language, sign language, and paper and pen to teach eachother language. He is a beautiful man, who from what we gather is 31 with three younger sisters. We laugh and laugh as he seems to 'forget' we don't understand him and will launch into rapidly strung together words in Kinyardwanda.
Yesterday on our way home from work, we met up with some friends in the street and talked for about 15 minutes. During this time a gathering of street children collected around us - poking and proding our pockets and bags. After we continued on our way - a young boy came running up behind me to tell me the small pocket of my bag was open...apparently one of the little ones had managed to slide open the pocket. All that was inside the pocket was gone.....so this little boy made off with a collection of feminine hygiene products and a twoonie...I hope they go to good use.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Celebration of Life - No Matter
On Saturday we were invited to a ceremony for the Association of Prostitutes who Agree to Change (APAC). This is an association of approximately 50 women who are former prostitutes, most of whom (if not all) are HIV positive. This association is in the process of finding alternative means for economic sustainability. I had mentioned in a previous entry of some English girls we met working with the women. They had been trying to initiate a basket weaving cooperative for the women. The women had received a contract with the department store, Macy’s; however, the local organization that was to export the baskets has refused because they are only to sign contracts with groups who are considered “survivors of genocide”. Apparently only Tutsi women are considered survivors of genocide and this group has a few women who are Hutu. What makes this especially frustrating is that Rwanda has declared themselves to be a nation without ethnic divide, referring to everyone equally as a Rwandan….guess this doesn’t apply to former prostitutes….
The difficulty also lies in that there is no support from the local politicians. The last encounter seeking support resulted in the women being berated by the politician who made claims that the women were still prostituting.
The difficulty also lies in that there is no support from the local politicians. The last encounter seeking support resulted in the women being berated by the politician who made claims that the women were still prostituting.
What we also found incredible was the fact that students of the University compose the largest portion of the prostitutes' clientele. It was discouraging to hear the medical students (who have good intentions) tell the prostitutes that they are putting "Rwanda's future at risk" by having unprotected sex with the male students of the University....a comment that provided more insight as to why the AIDS population is so high in Africa...the fact that men are given such little responsibility in the protection and prevention of the disease...the responsiblity lies with the women who are often forced into prostitution or are raped.
So, the English girls have finished their time here, without having helped the women secure any income. They have asked that we help facilitate the process as we are here for a few more months. We were taken to the ceremony on Saturday to meet the local organizers (mostly students from the Faculty of Medicine) and the women. The ceremony was held in a small classroom with about 25 women and their children. The ceremony included dancing, testimonies, speeches, and singing.
It is incredible to reflect on the lives of these women: on how these women, essentially dying as they are not taking retro-viral medication (due to myths about it causing deaths more quickly) and most of them leaving very young children behind, celebrated life. I won’t use words to describe how these women lost themselves in music as I think the pictures say enough.
I wanted to share the testimony of one very young girl. At the age of 14 this girl had been walking to get some water when she was raped by a local soldier – she was pregnant. She was ousted from her village because of the pregnancy so she came to Butare where she tried to find work as a domestic. It was very difficult to find work so in the meantime, at the age of 15 with a baby, she was taken in by local prostitutes. Due to her financial situation, she also began to prostitute. After a couple of years of prostituting, the birth and death of two children, and a test of being positive for HIV, she decided that she needed to find an alternative.
After the ceremony Joel and I discussed how one brief moment can change one's life forever…in a flash a girl can go from being an innocent child to a victim of rape turned prostitute who lost two of her children and has AIDS.
It was an incredible afternoon that yet again put into perspective what I might consider a ‘bad day’.
Welcome dance performed by women in the association. This little girl in the white danced beside her mother the entire time. 
Jean-Pierre (left) teaching us how to dance. My new friend dances beside me and Claudine offers suggestions to Joel.
Monday, July 23, 2007
I'm Joel from England...
We have FINALLY moved into a house. It has been quite an ordeal, having chosen a home and then being avoided by the landlady for 10 days. We eventually found another one, not as big as the first, but just as clean, and more than enough space for two people. The home is surrounded by a bricked wall that has large broken shards of glass sticking protruding from the top. We were pleasantly surprised by our landlord, who is a director at the local hospital, as he provided everything we needed; towels, bedding, dishes, a television, a DVD/VHS player, and furniture. It is amazing as you become accustomed to every process you go through in the day being drawn out and difficult; however, once we found the house it was a matter of two days of it being cleaned, equipped, and ready for us to move in. The house comes with two guards who tend the beautiful gardens during the day. Our first night we uncomfortable as we closed the door to our living room on the guard. He sat on a small wooden stool outside of my bedroom window. When we awoke in the morning he was working at cleaning the property. The second night we decided to offer the guard coffee (he is the only one of the two who speaks a LITTLE English – neither speak French – only Kinyarwanda). The guard took the coffee happily and returned the mug, teaching us a new Kinyarwanda word that means – I am happy.
We have a television with one channel and yesterday morning I was so happy to get half and hour with English BBC. However, this morning when I tried the channel, it was a local show in French.
The work is also improving at the University. The University has hired a consultant from Canada to map out a Strategic Plan. Last week we were involved in a two day workshop with the University staff that identified 10 goals for development and maps on how to achieve these goals. The Strategic Map being implemented by the consultant is based on a Scorecard system, where goals are identified and measures, targets and initiatives are determined. There were some very good ideas proposed by the staff; however, as dialogue ensued it was evident that the values and approaches of ‘what is education’ is very different in this country.
I have been hired by the Canadian consultant to develop the Scorecards that will create the long term Strategic Plan for the University. I feel unbelievably lucky to have come upon this opportunity to work at this stage of the University's planning. The work is MUCH more fulfilling than the secretarial work I had been assigned upon arrival. Once the consultant leaves at the end of the week I have been assigned to work with the Director of Planning and Development to develop policy and proposals for monies that will fund the 33 projects stemming from the Strategic Plan. There are very few women in leadership positions at this University and the woman I have been assigned to is an exceptional one. I look forward to learning from her. Working with the consultant has also been interesting as he has worked for the World Bank and CIDA on a number of projects around the world.
However, as I work on this Strategic Plan – based on Western concepts of development – I find myself wondering if this project will ever be implemented. The plan involves major restructuring of both administrative and academic systems – focusing in improving efficiency, productivity, and ICT infrastructure and capacity. This plan will need the implementation of time management and individual initiative – components that are missing with the staff currently employed at the University. My discussions with the consultant have broached this idea many times – the fact that development organizations pay money for consultants to come and implement development plans and expect the local population to execute the plan – a plan that counts on the values and ethics of western development models. I struggle to not be too cynical about this plan; however, I feel that without education around concepts of time management, work output, accountability, autonomy, transparency, efficiency, productivity – that these development plans will be all for naught. If I choose to do a PhD, I think that this school and a case study on the implementation of this plan would be very interesting.
We have also been fortunate to meet a lovely young man named "Joel...from England". He arrived in a frazzle on Friday (the University forgot to pick him up at the airport that is two hours away and arrange for accommodation for him) and has become a good companion. He is here as an intern working at the Center for Conflict and Management. I am looking forward to hearing what he learns about the genocide in this country. His internship started yesterday and over dinner he spoke about his experience working with two local interns who have been researching the genocide. I am very excited from him.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
I came across this excerpt this morning and found it fitting and comforting....
"How is one to live a moral and compassionate existence when one is fully aware of the blood, the horror inherent in life, when one finds darkness not only in one's culture but within oneself? If there is a stage at which an individual life becomes truly adult, it must be when one grasps the irony in its unfolding and accepts responsibility for a life lived in the midst of such paradox. One must live in the middle of contradiction, because if all contradiction were eliminated at once life would collapse. There are simply no answers to some of the great pressing questions. You continue to live them out, making your life a worthy expression of leaning into the light."
~Barry Lopez
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
An old soul
Each day since our first walk to work, we have come across the same beautiful girl dressed in her red and white uniform on her way to school. She is about seven years old. On the first day our paths crossed she walked straight towards me, exuding confidence, stuck out her hand to shake mine and asked, "Hi, how are you?". Each day I see the same girl and our interactions have become more intimate and less complex. We see eachother from a distance and smile and wave. As we move closer together we each extend a hand. I reach down towards her small outreached palm. As we stride past eachother, our hands touch briefly in the typical Rwandese style. That is all. I look forward to this brief encounter every morning as it has become like meeting up with an old friend each day I walk to work....I suspect this young girl is an old soul.
Monday, July 16, 2007
A Weekend in Kigali
Hotel Castel. Relatively clean room overlooking the valleys in Kigali. It was actually a treat as it had hot water and a television - although we didn't really watch it - it was nice to hear the familiar background noise.
View from the hotel room, looking into the sprawl of Kigali. The city center is the opposite direction of our view. Saturday night we were invited to a friend’s home for a traditional dinner of fufu (no idea on the spelling) cooked by his sister-in-law, brother, and an orphaned boy who recently moved into their home. The home was very simple, consisting of a bedroom and a sitting area with the food preparation area just outside the front door. Fufu is made from root vegetables and is served as a white, pasty, cold ball of what resembles dough. It does not have much flavour but is ripped off into small pieces and used with your hands to sop the sauces of the main dishes. We also had fish, cooked in a very nice, almost sweet, tomato sauce. Our friend’s siblings do not speak English and very little French so the communication between us was mostly smiles and laughs at one of the brothers who had come home slightly inebriated. The boy who had been taken in by our friend’s older brother was an absolutely beautiful twelve-year old with a smile that melted you heart. He was extremely shy as he had ever been in close proximity to a white person. Each time I looked over at him he would be caught staring and immediately look away. I desperately wanted to communicate with this boy but with my level of Kinyarwanda being less than sub par – it was difficult. However, we did manage to share some smiles by the end of the evening.
Our friend’s history has become somewhat of a mystery. I understand he was raised in the Congo as a Rwandase refugee. In a previous conversation he had mentioned that his secondary schooling had not been attended in consecutive years and that perhaps someday he would tell me about it. Last night, while he proudly displayed the pictures of his life we saw pictures of his mandatory ‘political training’; required of all Rwandese attending University. During this training, the students learn politics (my understanding is that they learn about the genocide during this time) and military skills. He bragged that he could magazine his gun (no idea what the correct terminology is here) in 16 seconds. I asked him if that had been the first time he had used a gun and he got very quiet, said no, and quickly changed the subject. During the course of the evening a cockroach appeared on the make-shift chess board being played by some people in the room. As Claudine reacted and pushed the board away, our friend said to us, “We cannot kill this creature because they are our grandfathers.” Prior to, and during the genocide, the Hutu’s labeled the Tutsi’s cockroaches (inyenzi), calling for their termination through radio and print propaganda. Our friend seems to have witnessed and experienced so much in his life, yet his laugh is one that comes from the soul. Before we even met him, I had heard him laugh as he sat at a table behind us, and I said to Claudine, that is an infectious and fabulous laugh.
Our friend’s history has become somewhat of a mystery. I understand he was raised in the Congo as a Rwandase refugee. In a previous conversation he had mentioned that his secondary schooling had not been attended in consecutive years and that perhaps someday he would tell me about it. Last night, while he proudly displayed the pictures of his life we saw pictures of his mandatory ‘political training’; required of all Rwandese attending University. During this training, the students learn politics (my understanding is that they learn about the genocide during this time) and military skills. He bragged that he could magazine his gun (no idea what the correct terminology is here) in 16 seconds. I asked him if that had been the first time he had used a gun and he got very quiet, said no, and quickly changed the subject. During the course of the evening a cockroach appeared on the make-shift chess board being played by some people in the room. As Claudine reacted and pushed the board away, our friend said to us, “We cannot kill this creature because they are our grandfathers.” Prior to, and during the genocide, the Hutu’s labeled the Tutsi’s cockroaches (inyenzi), calling for their termination through radio and print propaganda. Our friend seems to have witnessed and experienced so much in his life, yet his laugh is one that comes from the soul. Before we even met him, I had heard him laugh as he sat at a table behind us, and I said to Claudine, that is an infectious and fabulous laugh.
We decided to treat ourselves to a nice meal on Sunday and after unsuccessfully navigating our way through the winding and hilly streets of Kigali with our map, which seemed to be wrong ;) (our theme has become "how many grad students does it take to..." - apparently it takes more than two to follow a map - ) ended up hopping in a cab to drive us the last four blocks. The restaurant was absolutely incredible - an open setting with a wooden shingled roof and beautiful Indian art. The food and service was better than anything I have experienced at home or when I was in India. I meant to take a picture of the restaurant, but only got as far as the food - we were ecstatic to not be eating rice, brochette, or cabbage. The Indian owners have what looks to be a very successful chain in Kenya, Uganda, Rwanda, and soon Sidney, Australia.
Kigali Genocide Memorial
On Sunday morning we visited the Kigali Genocide Memorial. This was a very emotional experience. While inside the Memorial I was berated face bo face by an older local woman, who smelled and acted like she was intoxicated. I am not sure what she said as it was all in Kinyarwanda but assume it wasn't polite as another local woman who spoke English apolozied to me for the woman's behaviour. It was a very very disturbing moment, combined with the horrific visualizations offered at the Memorial. I am still processing the morning and will post my reflections at a later time.
A flame that burns for those killed during the genocide at the memorial. The hills of Kigali spread behind.
Eight mass graves that contain coffins of bodies found around Kigali. It is said that in each coffin there are parts of many different individuals as it was impossible to find full skeletal remains. The last grave in this row was open and you could see the many coffins covered with a sheet marked with a single purple cross.
Names of those killed in this region of Kigali.Tuesday, July 10, 2007
In the Headlines
Some interesting articles/items in the local paper I thought I would share – I have added my own commentary/thoughts on selected pieces. My comments follow the news, which is in bold.
Maj. Ntuyahaga was sentenced to 20 years in prison by a Belgium court for the murder of 10 Belgian Peacekeepers early genocide. Belgium’s Prime Minister was quoted as saying, “Had the peacekeepers stayed, thousands of lives could have been saved”. [A brief review; the capture, torture, and murder of these ten Peacekeepers resulted in Belgium (Rwanda’s colonizers who were responsible for creating the ethnic divide between Tutsis and Hutus) pulling all of their troops out of Rwanda] This comment is completely ignorant of the reality in Rwanda, 1994. Peacekeepers in Rwanda were on a Level 6 mission, meaning that the Peacekeepers could not use any force. This Level stuck throughout the entire genocide despite the Canadian leader of UNIMAR, Romeo D’Allaire’s, NUMEROUS attempts to persuade the UN change the mission to a Level 7. There was nothing the UN Peacekeepers could do but watch the violence unfold around them. Here is yet another national leader who fails to acknowledge the cowardness and incompetence of the decision making processes within the UN.
“Renowned Pastor Rick Warren’s missionary team here”
….to fight “poverty, diseases, illiteracy, spiritual emptiness, and lack of servant leadership”….. I wonder if the fight against poverty, disease and illiteracy comes with the price of conversion in order to solve the ‘problems’ of spiritual emptiness?
Poverty last dictatorship in Rwanda
“In developed countries, poverty is a sin. Only in Africa states are the poor ‘blessed’. Such a saying should be discontinued. I’m not changing the Bible, but politically, economically, and socially, blessed are the rich because they enjoy the treasures of the world. I absolutely support the fight for richness and prosperity.” I am confused as to what this means….I am seeking clarification from anyone who has insight….
‘Good customer care will move Rwanda higher’;
This article is an editorial written by Josh Kron (who Iassume is an expatriate)….He complains about waiters ignoring him in restaurants and generators not ‘kicking in’. He expresses frustration with the overused disclaimer, “This is Africa” – apparently the solution to all of Africa’s problems –
“The happy-go-lucky phrase ‘This is Africa’ will be the downfall of this country….it is obnoxious for a Westerner to come in, plop down at a desk in the middle of everything that is happening in this country, and just start complaining,…but the thing is…this isn’t a capacity problem. Work ethic and state of mind have nothing to do with capacity…when Rwanda says it wants to be a leader in tourism, air-traffic, cinema and telecommunications, it really has to understand what that entails….when a Kigali internet café owner says proudly that Rwanda is an IT powerhouse, yet the Canadian at the table is slamming her hand over how slow the computer is, we know there is something missing”. We know this experience well as last Sunday it took 15 minutes for the Yahoo page to come up to check my email in a café...I ended up just paying and walking away without checking my email before my bloodpressure when through the roof. This topic is something I will write about more on a later date as I am still attempting to determine how work ethic is going to help/hinder this country's development.
Full page advertisement; picture of a child in black and white with the caption, “Sex with a child is not a cure for AIDS, it is murder”; this advertisement lead me to reflect on a teenage girl in town we see on a regular basis. Since our first interaction (she approached us and asked if we would take her home with us) with this girl we realized that she was a child with special needs; however, it wasn’t until Sunday that I realized she is also pregnant. So many questions about her situation entered my head: does she have family to support her; does she even know she is pregnant; did she contract HIV when she was impregnated; who would do this to her; how will she raise the child; will she raise the child…
Maj. Ntuyahaga was sentenced to 20 years in prison by a Belgium court for the murder of 10 Belgian Peacekeepers early genocide. Belgium’s Prime Minister was quoted as saying, “Had the peacekeepers stayed, thousands of lives could have been saved”. [A brief review; the capture, torture, and murder of these ten Peacekeepers resulted in Belgium (Rwanda’s colonizers who were responsible for creating the ethnic divide between Tutsis and Hutus) pulling all of their troops out of Rwanda] This comment is completely ignorant of the reality in Rwanda, 1994. Peacekeepers in Rwanda were on a Level 6 mission, meaning that the Peacekeepers could not use any force. This Level stuck throughout the entire genocide despite the Canadian leader of UNIMAR, Romeo D’Allaire’s, NUMEROUS attempts to persuade the UN change the mission to a Level 7. There was nothing the UN Peacekeepers could do but watch the violence unfold around them. Here is yet another national leader who fails to acknowledge the cowardness and incompetence of the decision making processes within the UN.
“Renowned Pastor Rick Warren’s missionary team here”
….to fight “poverty, diseases, illiteracy, spiritual emptiness, and lack of servant leadership”….. I wonder if the fight against poverty, disease and illiteracy comes with the price of conversion in order to solve the ‘problems’ of spiritual emptiness?
Poverty last dictatorship in Rwanda
“In developed countries, poverty is a sin. Only in Africa states are the poor ‘blessed’. Such a saying should be discontinued. I’m not changing the Bible, but politically, economically, and socially, blessed are the rich because they enjoy the treasures of the world. I absolutely support the fight for richness and prosperity.” I am confused as to what this means….I am seeking clarification from anyone who has insight….
‘Good customer care will move Rwanda higher’;
This article is an editorial written by Josh Kron (who Iassume is an expatriate)….He complains about waiters ignoring him in restaurants and generators not ‘kicking in’. He expresses frustration with the overused disclaimer, “This is Africa” – apparently the solution to all of Africa’s problems –
“The happy-go-lucky phrase ‘This is Africa’ will be the downfall of this country….it is obnoxious for a Westerner to come in, plop down at a desk in the middle of everything that is happening in this country, and just start complaining,…but the thing is…this isn’t a capacity problem. Work ethic and state of mind have nothing to do with capacity…when Rwanda says it wants to be a leader in tourism, air-traffic, cinema and telecommunications, it really has to understand what that entails….when a Kigali internet café owner says proudly that Rwanda is an IT powerhouse, yet the Canadian at the table is slamming her hand over how slow the computer is, we know there is something missing”. We know this experience well as last Sunday it took 15 minutes for the Yahoo page to come up to check my email in a café...I ended up just paying and walking away without checking my email before my bloodpressure when through the roof. This topic is something I will write about more on a later date as I am still attempting to determine how work ethic is going to help/hinder this country's development.
Full page advertisement; picture of a child in black and white with the caption, “Sex with a child is not a cure for AIDS, it is murder”; this advertisement lead me to reflect on a teenage girl in town we see on a regular basis. Since our first interaction (she approached us and asked if we would take her home with us) with this girl we realized that she was a child with special needs; however, it wasn’t until Sunday that I realized she is also pregnant. So many questions about her situation entered my head: does she have family to support her; does she even know she is pregnant; did she contract HIV when she was impregnated; who would do this to her; how will she raise the child; will she raise the child…
Monday, July 9, 2007
Being an extra....
Cute story about this picture. Behind our friend Kenny in the black pants and blue sweater are the local extra's for the film, dressed in costume. Apparently the locals were complaining when they saw what they would be wearing, "We came in our nice clothes and you made us put on old dirty clothes". Sunday, July 8, 2007
Butare Night Life
At Safari Club late Friday night with Jean-Jacques (a young man from the Congo who played a French soldier in the film) and Kenny (a Rwandese responsible for casting). Kenny was the only one with energy at this point and put in a genuine effort to convince us to stay - we managed about half an hour more.
Our friend Jean-Pierre (brother of Jean-Jacques above and also playing a French soldier). He is one of the most genuine persons have ever met. Primus - the beer I am holding - is the locally brewed beer and costs about 1.50$ for a large bottle. Home Sweet Home
I have had requests for more pictures so thought I would show were I am living. We are fortunate as we have very clean rooms in a nice compound. Just not a lot of space.
The road we walk everyday just outside of our compound.
My apartment is on the ground floor. 
My room. The bathroom is behind the bed.
Reflections on a Sunday Morning
Another weekend and I feel guilt ridden that we have not left Butare. Our last two Friday nights have left us exhausted and without the energy to move very far the following day. We celebrated with the French film crew on Friday night as they finished their last day of filming. It was interesting to watch the crew, French and Rwandese, balance between the joys of being finished the grueling and emotional work of producing the film and the sadness in saying their goodbyes; both groups realizing that the possibility of seeing each other again is very slim. It was obvious that strong ties had developed over the course of the filming.
There are a couple of stories I would like to share that have touched me deeply over the course of the weekend. As I write this, I am struggling to justify sharing the personal stories of individuals on a public domain. However, these stories are my best illustrations of Rwanda’s catastrophic history and how the human spirit can triumph. One of the stories is about a French soldier posted here during the genocide, who came with the film crew to act as a French soldier. His story was published in the local paper and was explained in further detail by crew members. This soldier was quite young when he came to Rwanda in 1994. The paper described one day ‘in the field’. His crew came upon a roadblock made entirely of human bodies. Because he was the youngest, his commander instructed him to physically move the bodies from the road. The article describes the emotional damage such an experience left him with. Apparently, during filming there were many times he had to leave the set as it was overwhelming. I only hope that this experience helped him in the healing process.
Last night we met our friend Maurice (who I introduced in a previous posting) for dinner at the local “Chinese Restaurant” (where we waited OVER 2 hours for our food!!!!! And that is apparently normal). We learned more about his past during the course of the evening. I can’t even attempt to relate to the experiences this man has endured in his life. When Maurice was four his mother committed suicide, shooting herself while he was in the next room. He is not sure why she did it but spoke about the day openly. Apparently she had returned from being out that day, crying. Maurice mentioned that she was constantly upset that his father, who was British, was continuously traveling around the continent for his business. As the family sat in the living room they heard a shot, ran into her bedroom, and found her dead.
Later in the evening, Maurice spoke about his time with the RPF army. The story was disjointed without clear details; we did not ask many questions for clarification as we did not want to push him to speak about things he was not comfortable with. I will just outline the some of the things Maurice discussed. He spoke about hiding in the bush with the army for extended periods of time. During this period he spent much time with the current President Paul Kagame, who Maurice describes as ‘very serious and strong’. Maurice has a great love for this man; a man he claims his holding Rwanda together by his passion to rebuild a new Rwanda free of ethnic hatred. Maurice claims that as long as Mr. Kagame is President, Rwanda will be violence free; however, fears what will happen once his Presidency is finished (the next election will be in 2010 and most people here believe he will be reinstated). Maurice also described the Rwandese men who had been living abroad, returning to fight with the RPF. Maurice laughed as he described these young boys arriving with large backpacks and thinking that they would have the evenings and weekends free to party. He described the reality of their experience; lying quietly in the bush for days on end waiting for the enemy and then the periods of battle. Maurice, who lost his leg during the war, spoke about how some of these boys were here for only three or four days before being killed and how he doesn’t understand why he made it through the year alive. He concluded his story by simply stating, “I have seen a lot in my life- When I was in the forest hiding, I was an evil man - Now I am a good man”. I am not sure I have ever felt so humbled – and I am not sure that is the right word. His story and the innate goodness of this man’s soul, despite the tragedy he has experienced, left me feeling unworthy and embarrassed at how easy, safe, and privileged my life is. I think about flying into Rwanda, with my North American luxuries, knowing that I will be leaving the people of this country behind in two months to struggle with fear of the unknown as to what will happen in their future – and I feel ashamed. I realize that it isn’t my fault that I was born where I was – but at this point I feel I have nothing to offer these people and I am embarrassed to have thought that I did when I have absolutely no way of relating to the horrors they have witnessed and experienced.
I have read quite a bit about the genocide in Rwanda. The stories that I have read and now the first hand stories I have heard, are carried with me daily. Often, when I walk to work or lie in bed, I see and hear things that terrify me. Early this morning when I was lying in bed, I heard children outside. It didn’t sound like laughter, it sounded like screaming. Immediately I thought about the stories of the thousands of children, specifically those in an orphanage in Rwanda, who were violently slaughtered. Last week I walked by a restaurant that was blaring a local radio station in Kinyarwanda. I thought of those initial 100 days of the genocide when the government used the radio as propaganda, to instruct the Hutu to go out and slay the Tutsis. When I walk to school, I see the local farmers carry machetes too and from work and all I can think about is how this simple tool was used as an instrument to kill over 800 000 people. And I think, if these images and sounds emit such alarming emotions and fear within myself – an outsider who never witnessed any of the genocidal events – how do the people of Rwanda deal day to day? How do they go about their business with such reminders of the violence and hatred and remain peaceful, good, and kind?
This morning has been difficult as I write these words, reflect on the stories I have heard, and go back to my book, “We wish to inform you that tomorrow we will be killed with our families” about the genocide. I am full of anxiety and am fighting off tears. I have moments of wanting to know more – to hear more stories – to make an attempt at understanding; and then follow moments of feeling the need to walk away – of being afraid that the more I realize about this place and it’s history – the more I will change, and am again ashamed. The people here can’t walk away – they are not only physically trapped here by a government that tightly controls granting passport for travel but, they are also trapped by their memories – something they can never walk away from.
There are a couple of stories I would like to share that have touched me deeply over the course of the weekend. As I write this, I am struggling to justify sharing the personal stories of individuals on a public domain. However, these stories are my best illustrations of Rwanda’s catastrophic history and how the human spirit can triumph. One of the stories is about a French soldier posted here during the genocide, who came with the film crew to act as a French soldier. His story was published in the local paper and was explained in further detail by crew members. This soldier was quite young when he came to Rwanda in 1994. The paper described one day ‘in the field’. His crew came upon a roadblock made entirely of human bodies. Because he was the youngest, his commander instructed him to physically move the bodies from the road. The article describes the emotional damage such an experience left him with. Apparently, during filming there were many times he had to leave the set as it was overwhelming. I only hope that this experience helped him in the healing process.
Last night we met our friend Maurice (who I introduced in a previous posting) for dinner at the local “Chinese Restaurant” (where we waited OVER 2 hours for our food!!!!! And that is apparently normal). We learned more about his past during the course of the evening. I can’t even attempt to relate to the experiences this man has endured in his life. When Maurice was four his mother committed suicide, shooting herself while he was in the next room. He is not sure why she did it but spoke about the day openly. Apparently she had returned from being out that day, crying. Maurice mentioned that she was constantly upset that his father, who was British, was continuously traveling around the continent for his business. As the family sat in the living room they heard a shot, ran into her bedroom, and found her dead.
Later in the evening, Maurice spoke about his time with the RPF army. The story was disjointed without clear details; we did not ask many questions for clarification as we did not want to push him to speak about things he was not comfortable with. I will just outline the some of the things Maurice discussed. He spoke about hiding in the bush with the army for extended periods of time. During this period he spent much time with the current President Paul Kagame, who Maurice describes as ‘very serious and strong’. Maurice has a great love for this man; a man he claims his holding Rwanda together by his passion to rebuild a new Rwanda free of ethnic hatred. Maurice claims that as long as Mr. Kagame is President, Rwanda will be violence free; however, fears what will happen once his Presidency is finished (the next election will be in 2010 and most people here believe he will be reinstated). Maurice also described the Rwandese men who had been living abroad, returning to fight with the RPF. Maurice laughed as he described these young boys arriving with large backpacks and thinking that they would have the evenings and weekends free to party. He described the reality of their experience; lying quietly in the bush for days on end waiting for the enemy and then the periods of battle. Maurice, who lost his leg during the war, spoke about how some of these boys were here for only three or four days before being killed and how he doesn’t understand why he made it through the year alive. He concluded his story by simply stating, “I have seen a lot in my life- When I was in the forest hiding, I was an evil man - Now I am a good man”. I am not sure I have ever felt so humbled – and I am not sure that is the right word. His story and the innate goodness of this man’s soul, despite the tragedy he has experienced, left me feeling unworthy and embarrassed at how easy, safe, and privileged my life is. I think about flying into Rwanda, with my North American luxuries, knowing that I will be leaving the people of this country behind in two months to struggle with fear of the unknown as to what will happen in their future – and I feel ashamed. I realize that it isn’t my fault that I was born where I was – but at this point I feel I have nothing to offer these people and I am embarrassed to have thought that I did when I have absolutely no way of relating to the horrors they have witnessed and experienced.
I have read quite a bit about the genocide in Rwanda. The stories that I have read and now the first hand stories I have heard, are carried with me daily. Often, when I walk to work or lie in bed, I see and hear things that terrify me. Early this morning when I was lying in bed, I heard children outside. It didn’t sound like laughter, it sounded like screaming. Immediately I thought about the stories of the thousands of children, specifically those in an orphanage in Rwanda, who were violently slaughtered. Last week I walked by a restaurant that was blaring a local radio station in Kinyarwanda. I thought of those initial 100 days of the genocide when the government used the radio as propaganda, to instruct the Hutu to go out and slay the Tutsis. When I walk to school, I see the local farmers carry machetes too and from work and all I can think about is how this simple tool was used as an instrument to kill over 800 000 people. And I think, if these images and sounds emit such alarming emotions and fear within myself – an outsider who never witnessed any of the genocidal events – how do the people of Rwanda deal day to day? How do they go about their business with such reminders of the violence and hatred and remain peaceful, good, and kind?
This morning has been difficult as I write these words, reflect on the stories I have heard, and go back to my book, “We wish to inform you that tomorrow we will be killed with our families” about the genocide. I am full of anxiety and am fighting off tears. I have moments of wanting to know more – to hear more stories – to make an attempt at understanding; and then follow moments of feeling the need to walk away – of being afraid that the more I realize about this place and it’s history – the more I will change, and am again ashamed. The people here can’t walk away – they are not only physically trapped here by a government that tightly controls granting passport for travel but, they are also trapped by their memories – something they can never walk away from.
Friday, July 6, 2007
“WTF?”
I wondered how long it would take and the moment came…I had my first real “WTF?” (what the *#&*?) since being here – during which time I should really tell myself “TIA” (this is Africa).
I was asked this afternoon to edit a letter that has been written for the Rector of the University to the Minister of Education. The letter was terrible – sentences not making any sense. When I tried to make the necessary corrections I was told that I couldn’t and I was just to check for grammar. I told my co-worker you cannot put a band aid on a broken arm and expect it to be fixed – I cannot fix the grammar of sentences that make no sense. So – I had to edit a document which is an embarrassment to the University and sign my name to it.I hate these moments as they are completely frustrating and almost bring you to tears…usually how you react has a lot to do about how you are feeling about being away in that moment….guess I am having one of those afternoons when going home to my apartment would be a lot nicer than shuffling home to my insect ridden single bedroom….
I was asked this afternoon to edit a letter that has been written for the Rector of the University to the Minister of Education. The letter was terrible – sentences not making any sense. When I tried to make the necessary corrections I was told that I couldn’t and I was just to check for grammar. I told my co-worker you cannot put a band aid on a broken arm and expect it to be fixed – I cannot fix the grammar of sentences that make no sense. So – I had to edit a document which is an embarrassment to the University and sign my name to it.I hate these moments as they are completely frustrating and almost bring you to tears…usually how you react has a lot to do about how you are feeling about being away in that moment….guess I am having one of those afternoons when going home to my apartment would be a lot nicer than shuffling home to my insect ridden single bedroom….
Hotel Ibis
Sammy and "Christdaddy"
Media (ironically she works in the Public Relations Office of the University)
Bigga Cockaroacha....
We came home last night to find a very large, what looked like a cockroach, in the corridor of our guest house…I DO NOT exaggerate that it was longer than my index finger and almost as wide as the palm of my hand. Needless to say I slept with my blankets tucked in nice and tight around my body.
We woke up on Tuesday morning to a very grey sky and rain. Claudine and I geared up (me in my $5.00 Crappy Tire rain poncho) for our twenty minute treck through mud to school. The streets were quiet and we arrived at work to find the place empty. As we tried to dry our soaking wet pants and shirt sleeves – people began to drift in (an hour late for work). Our decision to come to work on time through the rain caused quite the ruckus at work….apparently 'African Time' when it rains out of season has a whole new meaning.
We have also become familiar with “brown-outs” or temporary shortages in the power, which can be quite frustrating. My work right now at the University involves a lot of cut and pasting and when the power shorts out every five minutes, the day becomes quite long.
We have finally met the Rector of the University. He has given us the go ahead to take on any project we want within the school. As aforementioned, the school is going through a transition. The Rector pointed out that there are no manuals in the school that regulate or streamline processes within the University; he suggested we develop a manual for the Deans on all school policy and procedures. However, we are interested in being a part of the school’s transition to a “westernized” system. We have been put in touch with another foreigner (not sure where he is from) who is the Director of Quality and something or other. We are hoping to meet with him soon to see what we can offer the school.
We have made acquaintance with two very gentle boys who are interns working at the school. They are from Rwandese families who had taken refuge in Uganda many years prior to the genocide, but returned to Rwanda in 1994. They are patient with all of our questions, which are many as they seem to be the only two locals we have met who will talk openly about the genocide, specifically with reference to Hutus and Tutsis. What I gathered from our conversations is that Rwanda is focusing on dismantling the tribalism between the two groups, which means that people are not to speak about the Hutus or Tutsis being separate identities; everyone is considered Rwandese. One can be arrested for referring to either group with a negative connotation. History in the schools has been re-written to dispose of ethnic identity within Rwanda. This is something I would be truly interested in learning more about as I fear that ignorance of a violent history reaching back almost sixty years and ending only thirteen years ago does not help in the healing process and could lend history to repeat itself. As an educator who believes in social justice, I would be interested in finding out whether post-colonial history is taught in a way that teaches the young Rwandese that being Hutu or Tutsi was simply a social construction imposed by colonial rulers. In my reading of Rwanda, it is seems that after the genocide, many Tutsi who took refuge in neighbouring countries have returned with their wealth and re-established themselves as the elite. And, from my previous blog, it is evident that there is little respect between the socio-economic classes or should I say – from the upper classes towards the lower classes.
In my travels, I have found that conversations with the upper-middle class members of developing countries usually reaches the topic of money and opportunities to make money. Steve, one of the interns, began to tell me how in Canada we have a lot of money to do things such as graduate school. He is completing his undergrad degree and is interested in pursuing a MBA; however, states that he is limited due to his financial situation. He couldn’t undestand that in the West, education is not free and my pockets do not overflow with money. I explained that I work two to three part-time jobs while enrolled in my graduate studies to pay for school. This does not happen here. What we consider ‘part-time’ jobs, such as waitressing, ideal for students putting themselves through school are reserved for those in the lower socio-economic classes of Africa. He also stated, quite frankly, that if we (foreigners) wanted to start our own business, we have personal reserves to cover the start-up costs. I didn’t feel the need to explain how our society lives on individual credit – many people living way beyond their means in order to do things like attend school and start a business (or just own the things that we feel we need).
Wednesday was a National holiday, Liberation Day; the day that the current government’s army liberated Rwanda from the previous government responsible for the genocide. We were picked up at 9:00 am to attend a ‘march’ at the stadium. As amuzungo’s (foreigners), we were directed to sit in the bleachers with dignitaries and other representatives from the University, where we both felt very awkward. It would have been much more enjoyable and comfortable to mingle with the general population standing in the field to watch the ceremony. The ceremony was suppose to start at 9:00, but of course did not begin until almost 11:00. The first part of the ceremony consisted of different schools, businesses, NGO’s, and other community organizations marching past and saluting the dignitaries in the stadium. I had taken part in a very similar experience during my time in Cameroon, albeit on a much smaller scale. Once the marching was done, the remainder of the celebration was speeches from various dignitaries interspersed with Entore dancing. We understood next to none of the speeches as they were in Kinyarwanda, but did here the occasional “Tutsi” and “Hutu”. We also bowed our heads in what we assume was a moment of silence for the fallen of the genocide. Entore dancing is the traditional dance of Rwanda accompanied with drumming, singing, and clapping. Entore means “the best” and during the traditional Rwanda monarchy - those chosen to dance for the king were considered Entore or the best. I took video with my camera and will try to attach to the blog.
After three long hours, we were invited back to a local hotel where there was a lunch for members of the University. The celebration included more singing and dancing. The University has a group of students who practice and perform Entore dancing. During the ceremony a song played over the loud speaker almost everyone jumped up to dance. The song is significant in the 'new' Rwanda as it sings about liberation. This song was played in the streets of Rwanda immediately following the announcement of Paul Kagame being elected as the first President following the genocide. Of course we were pulled onto our feet to join the dancing. I couldn’t have felt any whiter. A wonderful older man tried his best to teach me the traditional dance, which involves very intricate arm movements – movements that the stiffness of being white cannot maneuver.
In the evening, we met up with some friends we have made from the film crew. We have befriended may local Rwandese who are working on set in logistics, costume, and as actors. I realize that their details may not interest most of you reading this, but to some of you it may be more insight to the local culture and for myself, I would like to remember the details of these wonderful people. Christian is the ‘logistics’ man for the film. He was raised in the former Zaire and returned to Rwanda with his family in 1999. Apparently his nickname is “Christdaddy” (we are sure that this nickname does not have the same affiliation with rap that it would in the West). He filled us in on all of the movies which are being filmed in Rwanda over the next few years. A couple such as “Sometime in April” (HBO) and “Sunday at the Pool in Kigali” (made from a novel) are two of the ones which have already been done here. Christian says that France and Belgium have lined up many more films to be done here on the genocide over the next few years. These films have created an industry in Rwanda, to which many young people flock for jobs. However, I wonder what will happen when the world looses interest in the genocide and the film industry of Rwanda dries up. Christian has a beautiful voice and the last two evenings we have gone to one of local bars to listen to him sing, accompanied by friends. We met another man, Maurice, who has been dubbed ‘Bob Maurice’ due to his dreadlocks. His father was British and mother Rwandese. He is a very interesting man. During the genocide he was a driver for the RPF (Rwanda Patriotic Front). During this time, he was shot by a Hutu soldier and lost is leg. He now works with an organization that travels Rwanda, fitting victims of the genocide and land mines with prosthetics. He got a job on set in costume due to his familiarity with the gear of the local soldiers. He has interesting stories to tell of the militant policing in Rwanda. His home has been searched many times for drugs as the local police assume he is a dealer due to his long dreadlocks. Each time he is searched, he is hauled down to the local police station where they shave his head. Maurice informed the police that the next time they wanted to shave his head they would have to cut his head off of his neck. I want to write about the others but will stop there.
Last night we met two other foreign women from England who are warm and interesting. We have found it strange how the other foreign women in town show no interest in wanting to meet. I have often tried to catch other foreign women’s attention with a smile or hello, but none of them reciprocate. However, these two girls were more than happy to join our table for a beer last night. They are first year students who are here with an organization to teach sex education in school and work with ex-prostitutes. Their stories are incredible! We are planning to visit the schools where they are volunteering to learn more about what they do.
My co-worker and I continue to have fun with each other and it is a stream of endless teasing between the two of us. He makes the days go by quickly with his charades. However, I am finding my patience wear thin throughout the day as we work together in a most inefficient manner. Yesterday we held a meeting with the school Rectors, Directors and Deans. Preparation for this meeting was slow and arduous, and I often had to physically step out of the building to just let Patrick to do things his own way.
We went ‘house hunting’ yesterday…the school’s Rector is most upset that we do not have proper housing and has every staff member searching for a suitable place. The first home we saw was a three bedroom with a beautiful walled in garden. However, there was no fridge or stove. The second place we saw was also a three bedroom with a HUGE yard and garden. However, it was one of the dirtiest things I have ever seen. I was scared to open doors for fear of something charging at me. And going back to the large bug we saw in our own hotel the previous evening – decided that cleanliness is a MUST…
The weather this week is definitely not as anticipated. The mornings are cloudy and cool, and the days only see periodic bouts of sunshine. I think I will return more pale than if I had stayed in Canada for the summer!
We woke up on Tuesday morning to a very grey sky and rain. Claudine and I geared up (me in my $5.00 Crappy Tire rain poncho) for our twenty minute treck through mud to school. The streets were quiet and we arrived at work to find the place empty. As we tried to dry our soaking wet pants and shirt sleeves – people began to drift in (an hour late for work). Our decision to come to work on time through the rain caused quite the ruckus at work….apparently 'African Time' when it rains out of season has a whole new meaning.
We have also become familiar with “brown-outs” or temporary shortages in the power, which can be quite frustrating. My work right now at the University involves a lot of cut and pasting and when the power shorts out every five minutes, the day becomes quite long.
We have finally met the Rector of the University. He has given us the go ahead to take on any project we want within the school. As aforementioned, the school is going through a transition. The Rector pointed out that there are no manuals in the school that regulate or streamline processes within the University; he suggested we develop a manual for the Deans on all school policy and procedures. However, we are interested in being a part of the school’s transition to a “westernized” system. We have been put in touch with another foreigner (not sure where he is from) who is the Director of Quality and something or other. We are hoping to meet with him soon to see what we can offer the school.
We have made acquaintance with two very gentle boys who are interns working at the school. They are from Rwandese families who had taken refuge in Uganda many years prior to the genocide, but returned to Rwanda in 1994. They are patient with all of our questions, which are many as they seem to be the only two locals we have met who will talk openly about the genocide, specifically with reference to Hutus and Tutsis. What I gathered from our conversations is that Rwanda is focusing on dismantling the tribalism between the two groups, which means that people are not to speak about the Hutus or Tutsis being separate identities; everyone is considered Rwandese. One can be arrested for referring to either group with a negative connotation. History in the schools has been re-written to dispose of ethnic identity within Rwanda. This is something I would be truly interested in learning more about as I fear that ignorance of a violent history reaching back almost sixty years and ending only thirteen years ago does not help in the healing process and could lend history to repeat itself. As an educator who believes in social justice, I would be interested in finding out whether post-colonial history is taught in a way that teaches the young Rwandese that being Hutu or Tutsi was simply a social construction imposed by colonial rulers. In my reading of Rwanda, it is seems that after the genocide, many Tutsi who took refuge in neighbouring countries have returned with their wealth and re-established themselves as the elite. And, from my previous blog, it is evident that there is little respect between the socio-economic classes or should I say – from the upper classes towards the lower classes.
In my travels, I have found that conversations with the upper-middle class members of developing countries usually reaches the topic of money and opportunities to make money. Steve, one of the interns, began to tell me how in Canada we have a lot of money to do things such as graduate school. He is completing his undergrad degree and is interested in pursuing a MBA; however, states that he is limited due to his financial situation. He couldn’t undestand that in the West, education is not free and my pockets do not overflow with money. I explained that I work two to three part-time jobs while enrolled in my graduate studies to pay for school. This does not happen here. What we consider ‘part-time’ jobs, such as waitressing, ideal for students putting themselves through school are reserved for those in the lower socio-economic classes of Africa. He also stated, quite frankly, that if we (foreigners) wanted to start our own business, we have personal reserves to cover the start-up costs. I didn’t feel the need to explain how our society lives on individual credit – many people living way beyond their means in order to do things like attend school and start a business (or just own the things that we feel we need).
Wednesday was a National holiday, Liberation Day; the day that the current government’s army liberated Rwanda from the previous government responsible for the genocide. We were picked up at 9:00 am to attend a ‘march’ at the stadium. As amuzungo’s (foreigners), we were directed to sit in the bleachers with dignitaries and other representatives from the University, where we both felt very awkward. It would have been much more enjoyable and comfortable to mingle with the general population standing in the field to watch the ceremony. The ceremony was suppose to start at 9:00, but of course did not begin until almost 11:00. The first part of the ceremony consisted of different schools, businesses, NGO’s, and other community organizations marching past and saluting the dignitaries in the stadium. I had taken part in a very similar experience during my time in Cameroon, albeit on a much smaller scale. Once the marching was done, the remainder of the celebration was speeches from various dignitaries interspersed with Entore dancing. We understood next to none of the speeches as they were in Kinyarwanda, but did here the occasional “Tutsi” and “Hutu”. We also bowed our heads in what we assume was a moment of silence for the fallen of the genocide. Entore dancing is the traditional dance of Rwanda accompanied with drumming, singing, and clapping. Entore means “the best” and during the traditional Rwanda monarchy - those chosen to dance for the king were considered Entore or the best. I took video with my camera and will try to attach to the blog.
After three long hours, we were invited back to a local hotel where there was a lunch for members of the University. The celebration included more singing and dancing. The University has a group of students who practice and perform Entore dancing. During the ceremony a song played over the loud speaker almost everyone jumped up to dance. The song is significant in the 'new' Rwanda as it sings about liberation. This song was played in the streets of Rwanda immediately following the announcement of Paul Kagame being elected as the first President following the genocide. Of course we were pulled onto our feet to join the dancing. I couldn’t have felt any whiter. A wonderful older man tried his best to teach me the traditional dance, which involves very intricate arm movements – movements that the stiffness of being white cannot maneuver.
In the evening, we met up with some friends we have made from the film crew. We have befriended may local Rwandese who are working on set in logistics, costume, and as actors. I realize that their details may not interest most of you reading this, but to some of you it may be more insight to the local culture and for myself, I would like to remember the details of these wonderful people. Christian is the ‘logistics’ man for the film. He was raised in the former Zaire and returned to Rwanda with his family in 1999. Apparently his nickname is “Christdaddy” (we are sure that this nickname does not have the same affiliation with rap that it would in the West). He filled us in on all of the movies which are being filmed in Rwanda over the next few years. A couple such as “Sometime in April” (HBO) and “Sunday at the Pool in Kigali” (made from a novel) are two of the ones which have already been done here. Christian says that France and Belgium have lined up many more films to be done here on the genocide over the next few years. These films have created an industry in Rwanda, to which many young people flock for jobs. However, I wonder what will happen when the world looses interest in the genocide and the film industry of Rwanda dries up. Christian has a beautiful voice and the last two evenings we have gone to one of local bars to listen to him sing, accompanied by friends. We met another man, Maurice, who has been dubbed ‘Bob Maurice’ due to his dreadlocks. His father was British and mother Rwandese. He is a very interesting man. During the genocide he was a driver for the RPF (Rwanda Patriotic Front). During this time, he was shot by a Hutu soldier and lost is leg. He now works with an organization that travels Rwanda, fitting victims of the genocide and land mines with prosthetics. He got a job on set in costume due to his familiarity with the gear of the local soldiers. He has interesting stories to tell of the militant policing in Rwanda. His home has been searched many times for drugs as the local police assume he is a dealer due to his long dreadlocks. Each time he is searched, he is hauled down to the local police station where they shave his head. Maurice informed the police that the next time they wanted to shave his head they would have to cut his head off of his neck. I want to write about the others but will stop there.
Last night we met two other foreign women from England who are warm and interesting. We have found it strange how the other foreign women in town show no interest in wanting to meet. I have often tried to catch other foreign women’s attention with a smile or hello, but none of them reciprocate. However, these two girls were more than happy to join our table for a beer last night. They are first year students who are here with an organization to teach sex education in school and work with ex-prostitutes. Their stories are incredible! We are planning to visit the schools where they are volunteering to learn more about what they do.
My co-worker and I continue to have fun with each other and it is a stream of endless teasing between the two of us. He makes the days go by quickly with his charades. However, I am finding my patience wear thin throughout the day as we work together in a most inefficient manner. Yesterday we held a meeting with the school Rectors, Directors and Deans. Preparation for this meeting was slow and arduous, and I often had to physically step out of the building to just let Patrick to do things his own way.
We went ‘house hunting’ yesterday…the school’s Rector is most upset that we do not have proper housing and has every staff member searching for a suitable place. The first home we saw was a three bedroom with a beautiful walled in garden. However, there was no fridge or stove. The second place we saw was also a three bedroom with a HUGE yard and garden. However, it was one of the dirtiest things I have ever seen. I was scared to open doors for fear of something charging at me. And going back to the large bug we saw in our own hotel the previous evening – decided that cleanliness is a MUST…
The weather this week is definitely not as anticipated. The mornings are cloudy and cool, and the days only see periodic bouts of sunshine. I think I will return more pale than if I had stayed in Canada for the summer!
Monday, July 2, 2007
One Week In
Firstly, I would like to say thank you to those who have added a comment or emailed to share reflections on this experience. As some of you can relate, each experience brings with it more insight to this world and more confusion to my position here. Secondly, because it has been so long since my last posting - I forewarn that this entry is long and disjointed as I rush to get down all of my thoughts. Unlike Claudine...I actually have work to do here...;)
I have come to the conclusion that at times I need to stop questioning and just be – to enjoy each experience with whomever I come across; other foreigners and local Rwandese. Friday night was an excellent example as we went to Ibis, the local watering hole for both the local and foreign people of Butare. We arrived late, after being out to dinner with our new friend Patrick, to find a band playing. The band comprised of local talent and over the course of the evening crew members from the French film joined the band. It was beautiful to watch two very different cultures, one of which greatly contributed to the dismantling of this country 13 years ago, play together on stage. However, as the evening continued, the French started to take over on stage. I turned to Claudine and made a comment and she gently told me to ‘let it go for the night’; good advice. The evening flowed as the locals moved tables and began to just dance…I was almost moved to tears as I watched them take pleasure in the music. Men dance with men as they tell stories and interact with each other through the songs. When the band stopped – we moved onto another bar called the “Safari Club” - the local 'club'. Being the only white female in the club – there was no shortage of dance partners. The differences between clubs in North American and Africa are based on the fundamental fact that dance here is part of the soul. Although it is very sexually charged – it is very innocent and pure at the same time. In North America you have to be dressed in the right clothes and be doing the right moves, but here it simply the art or experience of dance and nothing else. Our group left at 5:30 in the morning, exhausted after many hours of dancing.
There were a few insights offered on Friday from my interaction with my co-worker Patrick. While working on employee contracts with Patrick, he pointed to a name and said that she was in prison. It turns out that on Wednesday, during the gacaca ceremony [when locals are accused or acquitted for crimes in the genocide by the local community], she and her husband were singled out for their acts. Apparently they were accused by some of the locals for pointing out Tutsi to be killed by the Hutu. She is also accused of not seperating herself from the RTLM Radio station (of which she had shares) when it was broadcasting propaganda to kill the Tutsi during the 100 days of genocide. As I discovered on Friday night at dinner with Patrick, he finds it difficult to talk about the genocide as it brings back bad memories. We are slowly discovering that there is a lot of healing that still needs to be done in Rwanda. We also discovered that he has a great dislike for the French due to their role in providing arms and support to the perpetrators of the genocide. This was disclosed when at work on Friday a few members of the film crew showed up on campus. One of the French saw myself – another foreigner – sitting in our office and pushed by Patrick, walking into the office to make an introduction. I was taken aback by the behaviour and Patrick revealed, after a couple of drinks Friday night, that he was hurt and angered by the behaviour as well.
We also discovered on Friday night that social stratification is prevalent in this part of the world. Patrick, who tells us he is being promoted to ‘Director’ at the University, explained this. The beverage glasses were also on the buffet. Patrick refused to get one for himself and proceeded to make the sound for calling someone…”PSSST” to the waitress. I got up to get the glass myself and Patrick was very clear that because he was a “Director” at the University, he should be waited on by those in a lower social/economic position and that he doesn’t owe them any niceties in the process. Claudine and I struggle with this. We are not even permitted to get our own coffee or water at the University – we are constantly being told “we have people for that”. I assume that this social stratification was imported by the colonizers as the economic/social elite of this country take back their sense of power after being controlled by foreigners. However, as there is very little written history prior to colonization, we cannot truly know from where this class system comes.
Patrick also disclosed his concern over my having three cats. In a very simple manner he said, “you pay for food and hospital bills for these things – why not just kill them and then take some very poor Rwandese children home to pay for their food and hospital bills”…It was a very interesting point as Stephen Lewis makes this exact arguement in his book, “Race Against Time”; that the amount of money Europe and Japan spend on pet food in a year combined could alleviate African debt (I cannot recall if it was an individual country's debt or the continent's); regardless, I was struck by this comment. As I tried to explain to Patrick that it is very expensive to raise a child in North American, I began to feel ashamed of my own defense as most of what we think is necessary to raise children in North America is according to our own values. If I took the amount of money spent on my fostered cats, I could provide a very comfortable and safe living environment for a very poor orphaned Rwandese child compared to how they currently 'survive'.
Homosexuality was another topic that came up at dinner as we commented on how affectionate African men are with each other. Patrick refuted the existence of homosexuality in Rwanda and stated that IF there were any the total number for the country would be about 6. This discussion did not go much further, and there is little insight I can offer at this point.
On Saturday we ventured into the local market where you can purchase just about anything. Bags and bags of second hand clothing were waiting to be opened and put up for display in the various stalls. The entire market smelled like church basement, which is likely where the various wares come from. We are all too familiar with the clothing drives and donations made to "third world" countries.
This link is worth checking out as we approach the anniversary of Darfur:
http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2006/11/30/60minutes/main2218371.shtml
Here is a picture of monkeys seen last Friday am strolling through campus. They were a beautiful site to come across and even the locals stopped to watch their charades.
I have come to the conclusion that at times I need to stop questioning and just be – to enjoy each experience with whomever I come across; other foreigners and local Rwandese. Friday night was an excellent example as we went to Ibis, the local watering hole for both the local and foreign people of Butare. We arrived late, after being out to dinner with our new friend Patrick, to find a band playing. The band comprised of local talent and over the course of the evening crew members from the French film joined the band. It was beautiful to watch two very different cultures, one of which greatly contributed to the dismantling of this country 13 years ago, play together on stage. However, as the evening continued, the French started to take over on stage. I turned to Claudine and made a comment and she gently told me to ‘let it go for the night’; good advice. The evening flowed as the locals moved tables and began to just dance…I was almost moved to tears as I watched them take pleasure in the music. Men dance with men as they tell stories and interact with each other through the songs. When the band stopped – we moved onto another bar called the “Safari Club” - the local 'club'. Being the only white female in the club – there was no shortage of dance partners. The differences between clubs in North American and Africa are based on the fundamental fact that dance here is part of the soul. Although it is very sexually charged – it is very innocent and pure at the same time. In North America you have to be dressed in the right clothes and be doing the right moves, but here it simply the art or experience of dance and nothing else. Our group left at 5:30 in the morning, exhausted after many hours of dancing.
There were a few insights offered on Friday from my interaction with my co-worker Patrick. While working on employee contracts with Patrick, he pointed to a name and said that she was in prison. It turns out that on Wednesday, during the gacaca ceremony [when locals are accused or acquitted for crimes in the genocide by the local community], she and her husband were singled out for their acts. Apparently they were accused by some of the locals for pointing out Tutsi to be killed by the Hutu. She is also accused of not seperating herself from the RTLM Radio station (of which she had shares) when it was broadcasting propaganda to kill the Tutsi during the 100 days of genocide. As I discovered on Friday night at dinner with Patrick, he finds it difficult to talk about the genocide as it brings back bad memories. We are slowly discovering that there is a lot of healing that still needs to be done in Rwanda. We also discovered that he has a great dislike for the French due to their role in providing arms and support to the perpetrators of the genocide. This was disclosed when at work on Friday a few members of the film crew showed up on campus. One of the French saw myself – another foreigner – sitting in our office and pushed by Patrick, walking into the office to make an introduction. I was taken aback by the behaviour and Patrick revealed, after a couple of drinks Friday night, that he was hurt and angered by the behaviour as well.
We also discovered on Friday night that social stratification is prevalent in this part of the world. Patrick, who tells us he is being promoted to ‘Director’ at the University, explained this. The beverage glasses were also on the buffet. Patrick refused to get one for himself and proceeded to make the sound for calling someone…”PSSST” to the waitress. I got up to get the glass myself and Patrick was very clear that because he was a “Director” at the University, he should be waited on by those in a lower social/economic position and that he doesn’t owe them any niceties in the process. Claudine and I struggle with this. We are not even permitted to get our own coffee or water at the University – we are constantly being told “we have people for that”. I assume that this social stratification was imported by the colonizers as the economic/social elite of this country take back their sense of power after being controlled by foreigners. However, as there is very little written history prior to colonization, we cannot truly know from where this class system comes.
Patrick also disclosed his concern over my having three cats. In a very simple manner he said, “you pay for food and hospital bills for these things – why not just kill them and then take some very poor Rwandese children home to pay for their food and hospital bills”…It was a very interesting point as Stephen Lewis makes this exact arguement in his book, “Race Against Time”; that the amount of money Europe and Japan spend on pet food in a year combined could alleviate African debt (I cannot recall if it was an individual country's debt or the continent's); regardless, I was struck by this comment. As I tried to explain to Patrick that it is very expensive to raise a child in North American, I began to feel ashamed of my own defense as most of what we think is necessary to raise children in North America is according to our own values. If I took the amount of money spent on my fostered cats, I could provide a very comfortable and safe living environment for a very poor orphaned Rwandese child compared to how they currently 'survive'.
Homosexuality was another topic that came up at dinner as we commented on how affectionate African men are with each other. Patrick refuted the existence of homosexuality in Rwanda and stated that IF there were any the total number for the country would be about 6. This discussion did not go much further, and there is little insight I can offer at this point.
On Saturday we ventured into the local market where you can purchase just about anything. Bags and bags of second hand clothing were waiting to be opened and put up for display in the various stalls. The entire market smelled like church basement, which is likely where the various wares come from. We are all too familiar with the clothing drives and donations made to "third world" countries.
This link is worth checking out as we approach the anniversary of Darfur:
http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2006/11/30/60minutes/main2218371.shtml
Here is a picture of monkeys seen last Friday am strolling through campus. They were a beautiful site to come across and even the locals stopped to watch their charades.
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